Of Generals, Warriors and Others in Between
by Nvrmore
Summary: In any war, there are many combatants but only two sides. Some allies may never be seen.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Don't own anything. Don't really want to; too much responsibility. But thanks to Kripke and the gang for the fun boys we can play with and enjoy.

A/N - Thanks Sams1ra for the title!

Of Generals, Warriors and Others in Between

Tell me if this sounds familiar. There's a war going on, all over the world, since the beginning of time. It's a war that most humans never know about – and probably don't want to know about. It's a war between good and evil for the souls of men. Sound familiar? Sound cliché? It's true. I know the outcome. I know who wins; who has won. The thing is, the battle is for humans and humans are bound by time. So we fight a linear battle until the "end of time." Knowing the outcome doesn't always make the battles easier to fight, either.

Who am I? I'm a combatant. I am a Son of God – an angel. No, not a pansy in a white dress carrying a harp with gently fluttering wings spreading messages of joy. I am not a singing telegram. I am a warrior, a protector. I'm a messenger in the same way men were "runners" in human wars, carrying marked packages, marching orders, secrets, in time of war. I'm a soldier who takes orders from a General I will live and die for. And I have my orders.

For now, I'm a guardian. My assignment: Dean Winchester. You may wonder why the General has an interest in him. Humans look at him and come to any number of various assumptions about him. Really, it doesn't matter. Who he will become, in human time, is how the General sees him now. And Dean is His. So I am honored to serve as guardian. But I'll come back to that.

Sometimes the war spills over into the physical world. There are a few humans who recognize the war, who see it for what it is. Dean Winchester is one of those. At four years of age, the war ripped through the veil and took a casualty. Mary Winchester. This one event set the entire family on a journey that they have yet to finish. Dean could not have been placed in a better family. John learned as much as he could, though he was sadly blinded to certain key pieces of information. But he passed on most of his knowledge to his sons. He raised them to be soldiers. He trained Dean to be in command when need be, to be responsible for those weaker than he. Sam, though, kept Dean's heart from freezing over with the chill and numbness of loss. It allowed Dean to turn orders into purpose and responsibility into compassion.

He's good, too, or aware. The demon that unwittingly set these men on their path so many years ago, continues to push them to the General's inevitable victory in this battle. Some time ago, the demon decided it was time to eliminate Dean. There was one time Dean's father sent him and Sam to Colorado. Sam's abilities had been awakened at this point, but he was still in a haze of grief and anger. The enemy thought to attack during Sam's vulnerability. It was not yet time for the young men to face their enemy. They were not yet ready. I stood guard. The battle that ensued was glorious, heart pounding, but one of the minions almost broke through the veil. Dean was aware. He heard it; he didn't recognize it for what it was, though. He turned from the back of his car to see what was there, but the minion had been vanquished by then and he saw nothing.

That was the first in a series of direct physical attacks. They came for him again. Thinking his guard would be down if he did not have Sam to protect, they tried to catch him alone. Sam was protecting a girl from what they labeled "The Hook Man," while Dean walked a cemetery alone. The General woke up Pastor Jim to pray extra warriors into action that night. Good thing, too. I was outnumbered in the solitude of that place. But the General is never caught unawares and help came in plenty of time. Once again, the veil was almost breached. I think Dean thought there was a ghost with him in the cemetery. He still has much to learn.

Then there was the incident in the asylum. Once again they decided to attack him while he was alone, thinking him unguarded. He was reading Dr. Ellicott's journal of atrocities. The place was already full of spirits, so I had extra guards with me anyway. When that failed, they turned their attention to Sam, trying to control him and turn him on his brother. Dean's a smart one, though. I can see why the General chose him. I'm sometimes amazed at the enemy's tenacity despite failure. But, considering Lucifer's stance in the face of defeat…well, I digress.

The next time they tried to attack him outright, he was already vulnerable. Sam had gone missing, kidnapped by other humans. Sadly, not every bad thing that humans do is under the influence of the enemy. Man's propensity for evil can be staggering. Again, I digress. The minions were going to use the humans to take him out, but a few got…excited…and tried to take him out before he got to the main floor of the house. They're not the only ones who have learned to hide in the shadows. This was the last time the enemy tried to just kill him. The enemy decided to try a new strategy after that.

At the same time, the General also gave me new orders. Among the most difficult orders that a soldier can get in the midst of battle are standing orders - orders that state I am to do nothing to interfere unless my charge's life is in danger. These are the orders I was given. I know the wisdom of the General is flawless, of that I have no doubt. I am also well versed in the idea that, in a fallen world, pain is sometimes the best teacher and the only means of change and growth. It is still not easy to watch.

The demon responsible for controlling or destroying this family decided it was time to take personal control of the situation. He also felt that all warriors involved would be weakened more by loss of morale and heart than Dean's death and martyrdom. Or maybe he just settled for loss of morale when he realized the General would not allow him to take Dean's life at the cabin. We were allowed to free John enough to save Dean's life, but like Job, that was the only reprieve he would be given.

John, Dean's father and foundation, gave in to his own demons after that and fell. His time in the battle ended. But, with the shaking of Dean's foundation and the crumbling of his safety structure, rebuilding can begin. Light and whispers from the General can now filter through and mold him into something new and unshakable. He still has free will. He still has to fight his own darkness, but I know he will rise to his destiny.

His destiny. Do you want to hear something funny? The demon said he has plans for Sam and all children like him. He said he killed Mary and Jess to get to Sam. He said Sam was John's favorite and Dean needed them more than they needed him. The General has plans of his own for Sam and the others. The irony is that Sam will be the leader of the chosen, but the one who so fiercely protects Sam is the one they are destined to guard. It's not about Sam. He has his part to play. But it is Sam, the other children, and all of the warriors in the crucial battle of this age that need Dean. He will lead us to victory and we will fight for him, unseen, though side-by-side with his brother and the other chosen. Few will ever know when the battle is fought and won, but through it, Dean will join the ranks of the elders of the remnant. And that is why I'm honored to serve, to guard, and to lay down my life for him. In the name of the General.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

The demon was smug as she further taunted Dean. "I gotta tell you… you would've never pulled that stunt if you knew…"

"Knew what?" Dean wasn't really sure why he was asking; he was already painfully aware of this favorite little game the demons seemed to love playing with him. Why he left himself open to be stabbed by word, when he never would have taken such physical abuse, he didn't know. Part of it was need. He needed to know about his father. He needed to know his father was ok and that his worst fears for his father were not true.

"Where your dad is…You should've made that deal. See people talk about hell, but it's just a word - doesn't even come close to describing the real thing."

"Shut your mouth, bitch!" They all seemed to know exactly which buttons to push. Or maybe the wounds on Dean's soul, the ones he hid so well from others, were just visible to these spirit beings. They certainly knew how to dig their claws into each one, opening them back up or tearing at them until he bled freely. And somehow, these wounds had a way of bringing him to his knees like nothing in the physical realm.

"If you could see your poor daddy… hear the sounds he makes, 'cause he can't even scream…"

"How bout I send you back there." It was an empty threat and he knew it. When all else failed, his mouth tended to work of its own accord, as if trying to speak into existence things he could not accomplish through force.

To Dean's utter surprise, the demon shrieked and appeared to flee from the body of the woman before him.

"What? How did I get… here?" The woman looked up at Dean in confusion and fear, and he had no answers for her.

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"If you could see your poor daddy… hear the sounds he makes, 'cause he can't even scream…"

The angel drew his sword on the demon hiding in the woman's body. "Enough! Leave now. You will harm him no more!" The angel had gotten new orders, but he was still, first-and-foremost, Dean's guardian. He knew that the physical body is only one aspect the human make-up. Sometimes, death of the mind or heart was as devastating and lethal as any flesh wound. He had his orders. He would protect his charge.

While staring down the business end of the warrior's sword and looking into the angel's burning eyes, the demon saw that the angel was not playing making an idle threat. It feared for its life, so it fled.

"What? How did I get… here?"

"You're safe now." Dean spun on his heals, surprised by the smooth baritone voice coming from behind him. It wasn't often someone could sneak up on him. He saw a huge man walking toward the woman. The man had a light accent Dean couldn't place. He was darker than he was fair, he had brown or black hair, and his eyes were dark brown and almond shaped. The man was probably not taller than Sam, but definitely wider and more muscular. He was wearing solid-black military-style clothes. Dean hoped he was one of the good guys because he would make a formidable foe. For all the danger Dean could read in the man's body movements, there was a gentleness in his eyes that put the woman at ease. She had been too confused to notice the man's sudden appearance. Dean watched the stranger warily. His gut told him that the man didn't feel like a demon, but he was not normal, either. The timing of his arrival was too coincidental, and Dean didn't believe in coincidences.

The man reached out his hand to help the woman up off the ground. "Go into the bar. Ask for 'Mark.' He will get you home safely." The man exuded honesty and sincerity. The woman nodded her understanding, and, in complete trust, she turned toward the bar and walked away.

As the man watched her go, he said, "She'll be fine, Dean."

Dean continued to stare as the man turned to look at him with a warm, albeit amused, smile. "You can call me Joshua," he said while reaching out with his hand in greeting.

Dean shook his hand more out of habit than anything. "How do you know my name? How long have you been here?"

"I know a lot about you, Dean. And I've been here long enough."

Dean still didn't think the man was a demon, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry, "Cristo."

Joshua actually laughed at this. It wasn't a cruel laugh, but one full of genuine merriment.

"Well, you're no demon. So, what the hell are you?"

Joshua's eyes flashed threateningly. "Mind your tongue, boy." But, the warning passed as quickly as it had come. "I'm an angel," he stated simply.

Dean's mind lagged as if his absorbed what was going on and what the man had said. He was thrown by the sudden lethality that was, again, all encompassing in the man's being; which was followed by the total return to calm. The angel's emotions were so transparent and such a part of his presence, that it almost made him seem bigger than his stature. And when his anger flared, his presence swelled. The return to calm did not have a deflating effect so much as it was a softening around the edges. It was the admission that he was an angel that raised Dean's hackles. Dean didn't believe in angels. He couldn't. "How can you see the things we've seen and not believe there is good out there as well?" Sam had once asked. And his response was, "Because I've seen what evil does to good people." For him it was that simple. His family had suffered too greatly for him to believe there was something benevolent watching but not acting. To him that would mean either the benevolent being wasn't so good, or his family had done something to deserve their punishment. So it was easier not to believe, or at least to ignore.

"An angel." Dean stated incredulously.

"You'd prefer I had wings and a harp, perhaps?" Joshua said with a smirk.

"Right… sarcasm. So, what? Are you here to give me some message of comfort and tell me how everything will work out okay? I mean, that's what angels are, right? Messengers?"

The angel looked at Dean intensely for a moment, studying him. "Something like that."

Dean was doing his best to put up his apathetic and snarky front, but he wilted a little under the gaze of the angel. He wasn't afraid that the angel would harm him. He honestly felt bad for the disrespect. Not enough to change how he felt, though. "So, what is it?"

"I'm here to tell you that the General, the Lord who leads armies, does not make mistakes."

Dean felt as if he was missing something. "What?"

"The General does not make mistakes. You are not here by accident."

Dean studied the angel before him. He thought he understood what the angel was getting at. After all, it consumed his thoughts these days. He had near misses with death most of his hunting life. That was just part of the job. But twice in the last year he should have died. Instead, others died - others who didn't deserve to die. And the weight of his guilt was threatening to crush him. "Are you telling me Marshall Hall deserved to die? Or Layla?...Or my father?"

Joshua shook his head. "I'm saying your perspective is wrong."

"What's the difference? They died, or will, and I didn't. Does that make them more deserving of death?" Dean's guilt was turned to anger. He needed someone to blame. He needed a reason.  
"It's not a question of deserving death. Death is a fact of life. All humans die." Joshua knew Dean well enough to know this answer just frustrated him. He offered further explanation. "Marshall was going to die. Sue Ann had already marked him for death. It was decided that you and your brother would have to step in to stop Sue Ann from killing more people. You electrocuted yourself…"

"Yeah. Hell of a lot of fun that was." Dean interjected under his breath.

"Your brother stepped in to save you, brining you to Roy and his wife. You can't see the future, you can only see the past and present, but had you and your brother not been sent, many more deaths would have occurred for years to come."

"What about Layla?"

"It's not for you to know. She served her purpose in your life, giving you a glimpse of what faith is. Whether she lives or dies is not up to you. It never was."

"But I stopped her from being healed."

"You stopped someone else from dying."

As much as he would never believe that his dad's death served any good purpose, Dean needed something - resolution of some kind, to be able to move on. He nearly choked on the words as he said, "And dad."

The angel gave Dean a look filled with compassion and sympathy. The feeling was palpable to Dean as he waited for an answer to why his father was no longer with him, and how he could possibly not be responsible. "You're father made a choice, Dean. He chose to take himself out of the fight. That is not your responsibility."

Though he could feel the truth behind the words, it was not enough. "He would not have offered himself for me if I wasn't dying."

"It was not his choice to make. He did not truly know if you would live or die. He chose to put himself in God's place instead of waiting."

"A reaper was after me! There was no other outcome. I was supposed to die. I am supposed to be dead." The last admission came out barely above a whisper.

"Demons can masquerade as angels of light. You don't think they can masquerade as reapers? Had a reaper been after you - had it actually been your time to go – you would not be here now."

As much as Dean wanted to believe this, another part of him – the part that still thought of his father as Daddy, hero of the innocent and destroyer of things that go bump in the night – could not accept this explanation either. The implication being that his dad had died for nothing. And that wasn't any easier for him to handle.

As if reading Dean's mind, the angel said, "Dean, your father was not perfect. He made mistakes, but no act of love is in vain. 'Greater love has no one than this: that he lay down his life for another.' He had a chance to make his peace."

"Does that mean the demon lied? Is he… is he in heaven?"

"This isn't about him; it's about you." The angel said simply.

Dean sighed. He hung his head for a moment and then wiped his hand over his face. Why do metaphysical beings never answer a question straight out? When he lifted it he asked, "What the h… What does that mean?"

"That means it is not for me to tell you that. You're not ready for the answer to that question. You still have much to learn and do."

"Whatever, dude." Dean was frustrated and tired. He headed toward the impala, trying to put this evening, and all its colorful inhabitants, behind him.

"Roy was telling the truth," the angel said to Dean's retreating back. "You have a job to do, and you're not done."

When Dean turned around to face the angel, he was gone. Dean paused a moment longer. This was a conversation he would not likely share with anyone… ever. Dean shook his head. Nothing changed, nothing had been accomplished. But his weight seemed a little lighter, and the seed that Layla planted months ago had just been watered. Funny thing about seeds. When they first start to grow, they need darkness, dirt and rain more than they need the sun.

The angel watched Dean walk the rest of the way to the car. His feet were re-set on his path, whether he knew it or not. Dean's destiny was calling and he would meet it head on.

The angel smiled and looked to his right. The General was smiling, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers – Usual. Don't own anything. And, fyi, the Edgar-suit is from _Men in Black_ and the quote - "Oh god, oh god. We're all going to die!" – is from _Serenity_. Don't own anything related to those, either. Well, I do own a copy of _Serenity_, and season 1 of_ Supernatural, come to think of it_, but that's it.

Oh, and a "warning" - This story is blatantly Christian. That said, if you don't agree with the Christian theology, use your discretion. Oh, and, no, I have not fully thought out the doctrine of whether or not angels and demons can actually be killed... hence, this is fiction. And the verses used are from the NASB. Thank you and enjoy.

Chapter 3

Rarely had a hunt gone so wrong. Never, actually. If it had, neither Dean nor Sam would be alive anymore.

"You still with me, bro?" Dean was leaning against the wall of the cave. He was beat to hell and fighting to stay conscious. Sam was much worse off. Aside from having been strangled… again… Sam had also had the tar beat out of him, and had somehow managed to impale himself on a ceremonial dagger. The dagger was thicker at the hilt than the tip, so they agreed it was best to keep it in his body, letting it act as a stopper for the blood that still managed to pour out far too quickly.

After a few quick, pain-filled breaths, Sam gave a slight nod of his head and choked out, "Yeah… I'm good."

Their bullets were spent, not that they did much good against demons. Yeah, that's right… de-_mons._ They were supposed to be checking out a local cult, similar to the Burkitsville situation. What had gotten them into trouble was that the "god" was actually a demon, with demon lackeys, and the priest and his two body guards housed their own demon lackeys. The situation had gone from bad to worse to "Oh god, oh god. We're all going to die!"

So now, Dean and Sam found themselves in the cave where the ritual sacrifices were performed. There were five demons present, including the wannabe-god. The demon lackeys had shed their now-dead Edgar-suits and were toying with the hunters, inflicting as much pain as possible. For Dean, watching Sam die was as bad as it got. His own will to fight and live poured out of him along with his brother's life's blood. Neither of them would make it out of this, he knew. Dean knew he'd die on a hunt. There really wasn't any other way he'd want to go. _Well_, a sly smile appeared on his lips, _that's not the only way I'd want to go. Me and the woman of my dreams, in bed… Yeah. Now there's a way to go_. But to go without even finishing his quest. To know The Demon, that yellow-eyed son-of-a-bitch, was still out there, that was not what he'd expected. And he certainly wasn't supposed to go after Sam. He couldn't watch his brother die. _God, please. I don't have to make it out of this. But Sam… He's strong enough to carry on, to live a 'normal' life, to be happy again. Please, not Sam_.

If the situation could have gotten any worse, Dean didn't know how. And then something else appeared – three somethings - and they were huge, standing well over seven feet tall. It was difficult to actually look at them. It was a bit like trying to look at the sun. Stare too long and their image would be forever burned into your eyes. But from what Dean could see, they looked like burning hot liquid metal that somehow maintained the shape of a man. Their eyes were white hot and Dean felt, rather than actually saw, when the one on point glanced in his direction. Their communication was a liquid sound, like the Niagara Falls – a low, rumbling, fluid sound – and they were not speaking English. Dean guessed they weren't speaking any human language. Perhaps these gods, if there really were such a thing, were angry at the demons for having the gall to claim godhood. All Dean could make out was that these fearsome creatures were not happy.

The demons initially reacted in surprise, backing away slightly from this new threat. They quickly realized, though, that they had the three out-numbered. The demons seemed to be able to understand these beings and hurled insults and threats in return. At least, that's what it sounded like to Dean. _Is the enemy of my enemy really my friend?_ Dean briefly wondered. _Not that ascended beings usually pay that much attention to us mortals_.

By this time, the demons had pulled their swords. _That's odd,_ Dean thought. _Where'd they get those? They're puffs of smoke. _But the swords looked substantial… and deadly. They were red and black, like volcanic ash with veins of hot lava flowing through it. They even appeared to give off a black smoke of their own, burning the air around them, leaving the smell of sulfur and ozone.

The other three beings also pulled out swords. These also burned, but where the demon swords were black, these glowed with light and fire, giving off a smell Dean couldn't quite place. Then, with a suddenness that made Dean jump and his heart skip a beat… _I am going to die of a heart attack after all, at this rate_... the beings before him snapped open… wings. The top edge of the wings appeared to be fitted with metal plating, honed to a razors edge. The outermost tips were also fitted with deadly points, making their wings as lethal as the swords they carried.

The battle was on. The demons leapt into action, diving toward their opponents, hacking and slashing, trying to overwhelm with their numbers. The angels, as Dean now recognized them, made a loose triangle. They left plenty of room to safely manipulate their wings without hurting each other. Between the combined furry of the blades and the wings, no demon had opportunity to slip between them. This was unlike any fight Dean had ever witnessed. There were dodges and parries, holds and escapes. The fight made use of the entire cave – walls, floor, and ceiling. Neither the angels nor the demons were bound by the laws of gravity and, at times, Dean battled vertigo and felt his stomach turn at the spins and upside-down fighting. Each fighter oriented himself to the other fighters, not to his physical surroundings.

Two of the smaller demons were taken out early on. A sword swipe and a swipe of a wing cut threw the demons, dissipating them into puffs of smoke that blew apart from the air currents caused by the movement in the cave. One of the demons shrieked in anger and frustration. The demons changed their strategy and all went for one particular angel. One of the demons swiped with his sword and cut off the top of its wing, leaving an ugly charred area on the now useless wing. The metal plating went flying, hit a wall, crashed to floor, and melted into the earth. The angel lost its balance from the force of the hit, but managed to take out the demon who had disabled his wing. The other two demons took the opening in the angel's defenses, one cutting its leg out from under him and the other taking his head. The angel burst into fiery light and faded. The battle never paused or slowed. It was now one-on-one. The angels, however, were better able to work in cooperation, switching targets with speed and fluidity, keeping the demons confused and off balance. In a matter of seconds, the final two demons were gone and only wisps of smoke bore witness to their presence.

The two angels spoke with each other, briefly. Both were marred with cuts of varying depths, each one singed and ashy. The one nodded and turned from the other, disappearing from human sight. The other stood for a moment, then walked to the place where the fallen angel's plating had melted into the floor. He knelt and reached out a hand to touch the wet earth.

"He was known as Matthias, to your people." The angel rose as he spoke these words. While turning to face Dean, he tucked his wings behind him, and the light that shone around him faded. No, not faded. He seemed to draw it into himself, while also deflating his size, until he appeared human. A six-foot-four, dark-skinned human.

"Joshua!?" Dean breathed.

Joshua gave Dean a small smile, but his very expressive eyes communicated deep sorrow that Dean could feel rolling off of him. "You see, we have much in common." Joshua glanced back over to the spot where his friend had died. "We have lost much to our enemies."

"Joshua. Please… Sam." He felt sorry for Joshua, and knew he should have felt more, but Sam was his all consuming thought.

Joshua knelt down in front of Sam. He pulled the knife from Sam's stomach, and the blood poured even faster. Too much. It was too much blood. Dean bit his lip to keep from speaking and tears made trails down his face. Sam was dead no matter what happened. There would have been no way to get him to a hospital in time. At least his suffering would end quicker now. Yet, part of him hoped that Joshua would do something to help Sam live, not just to ease his passing. Dean found hope difficult and faith even harder, but if he could muster anything to save his brother… he would give all he had.

Joshua glanced at Dean with a warm, comforting smile. Then he closed his eyes and raised his head to the heavens above. A glimmer of the glow Dean had seen earlier pushed its way through the otherwise un-extraordinary visage of the man before him. Sam had passed out during the battle, Dean knew, but his breathing was still shallow and slightly erratic. Now, his breathing evened out. His sweat-covered and far-too-pale face began to color with life.

As Joshua stood up, Dean examined the wound and saw that it had healed. "Thank you." He looked over at Sam, then at the cave around him. "We can't win, can we? We don't have the gun anymore…" He had never felt as small as he had today… or as unprepared for the battle ahead.

Joshua's compassion was almost overwhelming to Dean. "You cannot. Not alone. Take this." Joshua held out a book. It was plain, unadorned, and small. " ' "It's not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit" says the Lord.' You have everything you need to win. You just need to believe."

Dean smiled a little and shook his head. "Still trying to convert me, Joshua?"

The gentle smile never faltered. "Oh, you will… you will."

With that, Joshua walked away and melted into the shadows. Dean had a feeling he was still around, unseen, and was surprised by the comfort that gave him. He looked down at the small book, and smiled. It was a Bible, with his name carefully written on the cover. Inscribed on the inside cover were the words "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. – Eph 2:10."

Dean smiled again. And the seed started to spread roots.

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A/N - Just a little side story, here. The first chapter of this fiction was done because of an observation I had made, which my husband than challenged me to write and explanation for it. The second chapter was written, again, as a possible explanation for why the demon left so abruptly at the end of Crossroads. This third chapter is a deviation from the other two (those being observation/reaction stories). My point is that I don't really have an end point for this story, or even a next chapter. It's really just drabble that comes to mind. I genuinely appreciate the interest this story has created, and I feel a little guilty that I update it so infrequently. Anyway, thank you all for your patience. I don't know where this is going, or how often I will update in the future. But, thank you.


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